


My Love For You Is Silent (Unless At 3am In Arabic Counts?)

by orphan_account



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluffy At The End Trust Me, I'm actually kinda proud of this one, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rated T for Altairs Rampant Swearing, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5089175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desmond gets nightmares, Shaun gets a reality check on this whole being a dick, Malik just wants to be safe and Altair wants him to always be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Love For You Is Silent (Unless At 3am In Arabic Counts?)

The room drifted suddenly as though falling through a dream and Altair was left balanced on his knees on Al-Mualim's study on the top floor of Masayf castle with his hands tied brutally behind his back. He gasped at the sudden bright light and the hand gripping roughly at the back of his neck, forcibly keeping him upright, uncut nails on tender flesh. The room was familiar to the assassin, having spent many hours in his youth in that very room, talking with and being tutored by the Mentor himself.

Cool air poured in through the open windows from the courtyard, across the pale flesh of the Syrian, causing him to shudder in not only cold but fear. Deep fear curled around the mans bones and innards like a snake, an ugly thing made of fire and ice leaving tingling, painful trails along his insides. For the first time in his life, Altair was terrified by his Mentor, the withered old man standing tall and proud, hands firmly clasped behind his back and a stern look contorting his features, Abbas standing tall at his left hand.

The man behind Altair was a great deal larger than the wiry assassin, easily a head taller than him and almost twice at an estimate. Altair knew he could never overpower the brute in hand to hand combat and he wouldn't be able to slip from his tight grasp and bindings, so he dropped his head with a dejected sigh, ever the faithful pupil and waited for instruction in the desolate room. Only him, the Mentor, the brute, Abbas and his frantic thoughts remained.

Why am I here? What have I done? Altair wondered to himself as he gazed at the ground. He had been causing little to no trouble recently, gathering information on his final assassination, the tracking of Robert De Sablé, when a messenger had sent for him, requesting his immediate presence at Masayf, regardless of what he was doing. No one appeared to greet him at the gates, only Malik himself whom he'd been promptly dragged to an alley by and interrogated by as to why they had both been summoned. Neither had any clue until six assassins themselves had stormed the alley, manhandling Altair straight to the mentor and tearing Malik away from him, leaving him uncomfortable and longing for knowledge of his lover's safety.

A sudden cry from his left caused Altair to twist his head painfully in the direction of the noise. The hand on his neck allowed the movement only to relish in the anguished shout about to be ripped forcefully from the assassin. Malik knelt, much like himself, held up mostly by the large man with a firm, painful looking grip on his shoulder and neck. If not for the brute, Altair doubted Malik would have had the strength to hold himself up. He was heavily battered and bruised in the face, a split lip marring his mouth, two quickly darkening eyes, a broken nose and what looked like finger marks on his neck, making him look years younger than his true age, looking so much more like the novice Altair remembered from his youth. The Malik who had been battered once again by his father. And much like then, Malik looked absolutely paralysed in fear.

Altair's heart ached for his lover. I have to free us. Somehow. Deep in a naïve place in his heart and mind, Altair hoped that nothing bad would come of this meeting but his adult mind and gut knew better, if being forcedly dragged from the city to this hall was no better example.

“Altair, Malik, do you know why I summoned you both here today?” The Mentor began to speak, Altair's gaze pulling away from his lover to glare at the elderly man who had a savage grimace on his face. Good. I hope he's fucking writhing.

“I know not, Mentor” He all but spat out, fear masquerading as rage, the title simply habit not respect at this point. He knew he would be reprimanded harshly for his disrespect but for some reason, Altair simultaneously didn't care and was very afraid at the same time. Fear curled deep in the walls of his stomach like thin tendrils, boiling and unleashing themselves deep inside of him. His throat felt swollen and his legs felt numb. He needed to get to Malik and escape. Now. A swift cuff to the back of his head for his disrespect startled a curse out of him before he knelt up straight and mumbled a quick, “Safety and peace”, out of nothing but sheer habit.

“Let me spell it out for you then, if you insist on acting like a petulant child Altair. I have been told by a very trustworthy informant” Abbas unleashed a repulsive smirk at that, all bit laughing “That you and 'that'” He accentuated the word by spitting directly onto Malik's face. Altair raged at the sight, struggling fiercely in the arms of his captor, “Have been engaging in lustful, sinful practices.”

Altair froze immediately, the blood draining from his face and arms stilling. He felt the brute behind him scoff out a pained sounding laugh. Fuck. Oh fucking shit. This was not good. This was not good. I have to get myself and Malik out of here. The amber eyed assassin heard a gasp from his left side that had to have been Malik. “I know not what exactly you speak of Mentor, but with the humblest of respect I must tell you that he is lying.”

A swift backhand across Altair's face, hard enough to draw blood from inside his mouth startled a cry out of the assassin, caught completely off guard, “It would not be wise of you to lie at this point Altair. I know what you and this, dog have been doing. How could you have debased yourself in such a way Altair?”. Another strike came in the form of a withered fist that had lost none of it power, hard in his ribs, causing an audible crunch and a thinly controlled scream.

“Yes Altair” Abbas added on, kicking the stronger assassin hard in the stomach, drawing a thin veiled sob from the man, “How can you engage in such, disgusting acts? Are the women of the order not good enough for you?”

“Mentor, please” Malik cried out, struggling to break free of the guard holding him tight with an iron grip on his throat. “Abbas is wrong, Mentor. Altair and I have never done anything of the sort. Altair has a woman of his own. I beg you to see reason!” Malik flawlessly lied to the old man, tears welling in his eyes.

“Know now Rafiq, that nothing that escapes your lips can sway my judgement, so I advise you to STAY SILENT! Altair, you were always my favourite of these novices. I held you on a standard above these brutish fiends, I made you our youngest Master and yet you knew this and still willingly betrayed all that we stand for. I cannot offer you anything more. The standard punishment must be carried out. For both of you.”

“NO!” Whomever left out that cry could not have been told. Maybe it was Malik, maybe Altair, more than likely both.

“Such a waste you are Altair. You could have been a great man, despite your disadvantages. Still, you have brought this upon yourself” The Mentor spoke in a soft voice, one that could have been mistaken as remorse by a lesser man. But Altair knew that voice from hearing it several times in his youth, disappointed and unwilling resignation. NO! “I sentence you both to death for your sinful crimes.”

“Altair!” Malik cried out for him through free flowing tears. He had abandoned false premises and lies it seemed. Altair's own face was also wet with tears, the like he had not shed since childhood, “Altair I love you! I love you, do not forget that! Wherever we go remember-” Malik was cut off with a kick to the mouth from Abbas, near to destroying his lower jaw with a deafening crunch.

The first time Altair had heard those words pass from those sweet lips, that tasted of the honey of the sweets they would steal from the kitchens, they were but youths of thirteen. All greedy hands, swift feet and soft kisses stolen safely hidden by the walls of the lower gardens. Sugar on spice on their lips. As they grew older together it became furious caresses, grasping hands and muffled moans hidden in haycarts and in Altair's chambers, safety and peace. After Kadar, after Solomon's temple, they had split, but not even fate could take them apart forever.

Through it all they had remained together. Altair couldn't remember a time when they had not been lovers.

“Malik, I-”

“DESMOND!”

Desmond lurched forward into the arms of the man shaking his shoulders, hands gripping his back, practically in the mans lap, as he stiffened beneath the brown haired assassins then slowly relaxed, tucking Desmonds weeping face into the crook of his neck, sobbing out “Malik I love you” in accented Arabic.

He hesitantly pulled back, still crying, looking up into green eyes and red hair. Flaming hair not midnight black. Emerald eyes not leather brown. Cold hands on warm skin not warm hands on cold skin. The 2010s not 1200AD. Shaun not Malik. He felt grounded now, felt every careful touch of the British man, felt his friendship. Shaun was here, safe and secure.

Tears still rolled down Desmonds face but he mostly had his sobbing under control. For now. It would always return, always, but Desmond relished the moments of calm, like the eye of an eternal storm, wild and untamed, but survivable.

“Des, Des look at me. Are you alright mate? I was passing by when I heard you calling someone's name. Was it the bleeding effect again?" Shaun asked rapidly, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, cheeks flushed a brilliant red that made Desmond smile. It never failed to make him laugh that Shaun couldn't even show his friend a little caring without turning bright pink.

“Yeah. I am” Desmond mumbled, picking himself up of the Brits lap with a mumbled apology before settling back against the headboard with a sigh. He rubbed slow circles into his temple with two fingers to alleviate the migraine he could already feel forming. It felt like desynchronising, crashing from the bleeding effect. Like, mentally collapsing and rebuild yourself from a cognitive level in seconds. “Altair is always the worst. It's something about being dragged that far back than forward all at once ”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Shaun asked shifting and settling next to him, arms lightly brushing together, face still an amusing shade of pink. If Shaun was being honest with himself, he didn't know why he was offering to stay and talk but it had something to do with not being a dick, wanting to help and Desmonds frankly gorgeous eyes, “I know I'm a bit of a wanker but we're still friends like.”

“If you don't mind. You know how Altair and Malik were a thing right, and I'm going to presume you know how badly punished gay people were back in the day?” Two consecutive nods followed by a grimace, “Altair used to have a recurring nightmare where Abbas found out about them and told Al Mualim. They're brought up in front of the mentor who then proceeded to beat the shit out of them. The nightmare usually ends with both of them being taken away to be executed. No matter how much Altair fought he couldn't save Malik.”

“That's horrible” Shaun murmured his hand reaching up to touch Des' shoulder. He knew how badly hearing that stuff affected Des and he wanted to ease that pain. For once in his life, Shaun wanted to be the balm to Desmonds wounds instead of the knife. Shaun smiled when he saw Desmond yawn, “How they treated some people differently because of who they loved. Go to sleep Desmond, get some rest for tomorrow”.

“Will you stay here?” Desmond mumbled half asleep already, looking up at Shaun with a longing look he then tried to hide by climbing under the covers and rolling over to face the wall. “With me?”

Shaun hesitated for a brief moment before deciding to stay. Whether it was based on his new policy of not-being-a-dick, on the way Desmond looked at him with those beautiful amber eyes, or something, deeper, he didn't know. But what he did know was he climbed under the covers with him, wrapped an arm around the brunettes waist, feeling him tense, then relax into the embrace. Shaun pressed a loving kiss to his shoulder and saw his smile in the night. He mirrored it before mumbling, “Of course Desmond. Safety and Peace.”

“Safety and Peace Shaun”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. I'm not dead. Lets just presume there's a good place for this to fit into canon m'kay?


End file.
